Thankful
by Deana
Summary: Aramis is shot and robbed of his horse, hat, and weapons...yet by the end of this story, he has reasons to be thankful. My entry in the 'Fete des Mousquetaires' contest for November: Gratitude.


Thankful  
A Musketeer story by Deana

My entry in the Fete des Mousquetaires contest for November: 'Gratitude'!

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Aramis walked slowly, his hand clamped tightly to his left shoulder, which was spilling blood down his chest. It was night and he could barely see where he was going, relying on his sense of direction to get him home to the garrison. Aramis was hardly ever alone—always being in the company of Porthos, Athos, or both—but right now, neither of them were with him, and he wondered if it would cost him his life.

His head was spinning from blood loss and his senses were dulled, making Aramis question what had happened to him. It took nearly ten seconds for him to remember that he'd been shot and his horse stolen. Had they taken his weapons too? Aramis couldn't seem to pull his hand away from his bleeding shoulder to check.

A wave of dizziness washed over him so strongly that it sent Aramis careening sideways, where he painfully thudded against a wall. Before he could stop his descent, he'd collapsed to his knees, gasping from the pain.

A roaring sound filled his ears and he could feel his heart thudding against his ribs. Eyes closed, he fought to catch his breath as a voice in his mind commanded him to get up...that he would bleed to death overnight if he gave in to unconsciousness. It sounded like Athos, and Aramis raised his head and tried to obey, fighting against his own body as he somehow managed to shakily stand.

The next few minutes vanished from Aramis' mind, and suddenly, he had reached the garrison gate. He used all of his remaining strength to open it just enough to slip through, and stood leaning against it, too weak to take another step. He suddenly chuckled at the ridiculous thought of finally reaching home only to die on the doorstep.

With that, Aramis finally passed out and fell to the ground.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Serge rose earlier than usual to begin preparations for the day, and looked out on the pre-dawn light. He noticed the open gate and the body laying beside it, and quickly limped over. When he realized that it was Aramis, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "CAPTAIN TREVILLE!" Quickly, he knelt beside the fallen musketeer and carefully turned him over, his eyes widening in fear at the amount of blood covering him. "CAPTAIN!" he shouted again. "PORTHOS! ATHOS!" He shakily felt for Aramis' pulse, finding it beating fast and weak.

The three men he'd shouted for suddenly appeared, running towards them.

"What happened?!" Treville exclaimed.

"I just found him here!" Serge told them.

Wordlessly, Porthos scooped Aramis into his arms and quickly rushed him away.

"Someone fetch a doctor!" Treville said to the group of musketeers who'd been woken by the shouts.

A handful of them scurried away, and Treville and Athos followed Porthos to Aramis' room, where they gently laid their wounded friend down.

Quickly, they stripped Aramis of his belts, sash, and bloodied jacket, finding his beige shirt sodden with blood. Porthos ripped it down the middle with one tug and pulled it off him, revealing the gunshot wound.

"He's lost too much blood," Treville said, studying Aramis' gray face. "We can't wait for a doctor."

At that, Athos headed to the chest at the end of Aramis' bed and took out his pouch of surgical tools. He laid it out on the bedside table, watching as Treville picked up a long set of tweezers and held them out for Athos to pour brandy over them.

Athos did so, before glancing at Porthos to make sure that he was holding Aramis down, and then he poured it over the wound.

To their dread, their friend didn't react.

Athos and Porthos shared a look of dismay at the depth of unconsciousness that gripped him, and watched as Treville inserted the tweezers into the wound.

Abruptly, Aramis woke and gave a loud cry of pain.

Athos latched onto him beside Treville, wishing that Aramis had remained senseless.

"Hold him down!" Treville exclaimed unnecessarily.

Aramis was panting, giving another cry of pain.

Porthos climbed on the bed and pulled his friend's head against his stomach. "Shhh," he said, smoothing his hair back. "You're gonna be fine, Aramis, you're gonna be fine!"

Aramis trembled violently, still gasping.

Athos sat on Aramis' legs and held both of his arms down tightly, watching as more blood welled up from the wound as Treville dug around for the bullet.

Aramis gave another breathless cry of pain.

"Hurry up!" Porthos exclaimed.

Treville took no offense to his tone, and continued his search for the bullet. Suddenly he made a sound of relief and pulled it out.

Aramis gasped again and went limp.

Porthos pulled his head back to look into his face, and found Aramis' eyes closed, his breathing shallow. He had to force himself to resist trying to wake him, not wanting him to endure anymore torture.

Treville quickly grabbed a needle and thread, and after pouring brandy over them, he started to stitch.

Aramis tensed up again, moaning weakly.

Porthos kept a comforting hand on his shoulder, using his other hand to smooth back his friend's sweaty hair. "Almost done," he said.

Aramis said nothing, shaking again from the pain.

The door suddenly opened and a head poked itself into the door. "The doctor isn't in," the musketeer said. "We had to leave a note for him."

"Figures," said Porthos, glad that they hadn't waited.

Minutes later, Treville had finished stitching, and he wiped his bloody hands on the towel that Athos handed him.

"It's all over, Aramis," Porthos told him. "Just rest now."

Aramis gave no reply.

Athos brought over a basin of water and dipped a towel in it before handing it to Porthos, who wiped the sweat from their wounded friend's forehead and face. He watched as Treville bandaged the wound, and suddenly realized something. "Where is Aramis' horse?"

The others looked at him, askance.

Aramis didn't react, and they realized that he'd lost consciousness again.

Their usual doctor eventually came and praised them for their care of their friend, before reluctantly telling them that Aramis had indeed lost too much blood and his fate was in God's hands.

Though terrified at those words, no one was surprised considering the amount of blood that had been covering Aramis, and hours passed with him remaining senseless. Athos and Porthos never left his side, watching their friend for any sign of wakefulness or distress.

The main thing they needed to do was keep Aramis warm and get him to drink as much water as possible to help replenish his blood supply. Keeping him warm was easy with the fireplace and several blankets, but getting an unconscious man to drink was _not_. Trying to figure out when Aramis was aware enough to swallow was difficult at first, until they began to notice differences in his breathing pattern. By that evening, it became easy to tell when Aramis had some level of consciousness, even when he didn't move or make a sound.

Athos was standing at the window an hour after suppertime, looking out at the twilight when Porthos suddenly spoke.

"He's wakin' up!"

Athos turned and headed back to the bed, watching as Aramis' shallow breathing came faster and his eyes scrunched up from the pain. Athos sat beside him and slid his hand under the blankets, holding down Aramis' injured arm to prevent him from moving it.

Porthos was sitting on the other side of the bed with a hand on their friend's head. "Come on, Aramis," he said. "Wake up for us."

It took a moment, but Aramis eventually groaned and opened bleary eyes.

Athos and Porthos both smiled at him with relief.

"What happened?" Aramis weakly whispered.

"We were hoping that you could tell _us_ ," Athos answered. "Serge found you just inside the gate this morning with a bullet in your shoulder."

Aramis closed his eyes and licked dry lips, prompting Athos to quickly pour a glass of water.

Porthos slid an arm under Aramis and pulled him up a little, holding him there while Athos fed him the water.

Aramis drank it as if he'd been in the desert. When Porthos laid him back down, he closed his eyes and groaned from the pain.

The others patiently waited for him to look at them again before they spoke.

"Do you remember anything, Aramis?" Porthos asked, gently squeezing his friend's good arm. "You'd been sent to deliver a message to the Spanish ambassador. The king chose you because you know the language."

Aramis nodded. "I was on my way back...from the palace." He suddenly winced and closed his eyes when a flare of pain shot through him. When he spoke again, he sounded weaker. "Sudden gunshot…fell from my horse. When I woke…weapons and horse gone."

"And your hat?" Porthos asked. "You didn't come back with it."

Aramis frowned, before closing his eyes with a sigh. Everyone knew how much he loved his hat.

"Did you hit your head?" Athos asked.

"What?" Aramis whispered.

"When you fell from your horse."

Aramis didn't answer, his face paling more than it already was.

Porthos reached forward to tap his face. "Hey, no passin' out, Aramis."

A soft moan was all they got for an answer.

"Hey," Porthos said, tapping his face again. "Open those eyes of yours."

Somehow, Aramis did, slightly.

Porthos gave him an encouraging smile. "Do you remember Athos' question?" he asked, trying to gauge how coherent he was.

In answer, Aramis shifted sluggish, blinking eyes to Athos.

"Did you hit your head when you fell from your horse ?" Athos repeated.

"Oh," said Aramis. He blinked again but still gave no answer.

"Do you have a headache?" Porthos wisely asked.

"Yes."

They both knew that it could've been caused by the blood loss, but Athos gently ran his fingers over their friend's head looking for a bump.

Aramis suddenly winced, and Athos looked at Porthos with a nod.

Porthos felt a stab of concern hit his stomach. "Let me see those eyes of yours again, Aramis."

Aramis obeyed.

Porthos peered at them, using his thumb to open each one wider. He was relieved to find both pupils the same size. "No concussion this time, for once."

Athos was relieved too, and poured another cup of water. He glanced at Porthos, wordlessly telling him to pull their friend up again. "Drink, Aramis," he said

Aramis did, swallowing every drop. He was out again before his head hit the pillow.

"We need to find this thief," Porthos said, angrily.

Athos nodded, studying their pale, unconscious friend. "Yes," he said. "We do."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Aramis remained unconscious through the night, never moving an inch. It wasn't until after morning muster that he woke again, with a groan.

"Finally!" Porthos exclaimed.

Athos poured some water and they watched as Aramis moved his head slightly and scrunched his eyes up in a wince. He eventually peeked his eyes open for a second before closing them again.

"How are you feeling?" Athos asked.

Aramis sighed.

"That good, huh?" said Porthos. He slid an arm under him and lifted him up to drink, which Aramis gratefully did.

Athos put down the cup and stuck an extra pillow behind their friend to recline him upright. "Do you remember what happened?"

Aramis nodded slightly. "Shot."

"Did you see your attacker?" Athos asked.

"No," Aramis whispered. "Lost my horse...weapons...hat." He was visibly upset.

Porthos nodded and squeezed his friend's hand. "Which can _all_ be replaced...but _you_ can't be."

Aramis sighed again, though he weakly squeezed back.

"How's the pain?" Athos asked.

"Painful," Aramis answered, one corner of his mouth lifting in a slight grin.

"You should eat," said Athos. "I'll fetch you something."

Aramis didn't protest, not that Athos would've let him. Aramis knew that he would have to eat even if one of them fed him.

A few minutes later, there was a sudden flurry of noise from outside, accompanied by a loud whinny.

Aramis' eyes popped open. "My horse!" he exclaimed.

Porthos dashed over to the window to see that Aramis was right; his horse was standing in the middle of the garrison, rearing in a state of frenzy.

A gasp came from the bed, and Porthos turned to see his wounded friend trying to get up. "What are you doin'?!" he exclaimed, rushing over to stop him.

"She needs me," Aramis said, wincing.

"No she doesn't," said Porthos, even though he knew that Aramis was right; Bella's master was the only one who could calm her down when she was upset.

Athos came back in as Porthos was carefully trying to hold Aramis down. "She won't stop," he said.

Porthos knew exactly what he was saying. "And if Aramis passes out along the way?"

"I won't," Aramis told them, as if that was something that he could actually promise.

Athos grabbed Aramis' boots and put them on him while Porthos scooped up Aramis' arm in a sling and tied it around his neck.

Sitting up was making Aramis' head spin, but another loud whinny from Bella cleared his head somewhat, and he was suddenly pulled upright with his right arm across Porthos' shoulders.

His vision spun again and Aramis had to use every ounce of willpower he had to remain conscious.

Athos grabbed him on his other side by the back waistband of his pants.

A crash sounded outside and Aramis lifted his head, having not even realized that he'd lowered it. _Don't pass out,_ he thought. _Don't pass out._

"Yeah, _don't_ ," said Porthos.

Aramis didn't realize that he'd spoken aloud. He took a step towards the door on shaky legs, the grip of his friends keeping him upright.

Porthos and Athos took all of their friend's weight as he fell into a half-conscious state, barely able to move. When they got outside, a breeze blew into their faces and Aramis seemed to come back to himself a little, especially when a loud whinny filled the air.

Athos and Porthos carefully sat Aramis on the bench at the table as the horse reached them and stuck her nose in his chest.

Aramis weakly raised his good arm and put a hand on her face, leaning his head against her neck.

Athos and Porthos kept their hold on him when it seemed like he might slide bonelessly off the bench.

"I can't believe you brought him out here!" Treville's voice suddenly said.

Porthos looked at him. "Did we have a choice?"

Treville looked around at the mess that the horse had made. "No," he agreed.

Aramis remained where he was, his head buried in Bella's mane.

"Where was she found?" Athos asked.

"She wasn't," Treville told them. "She came barrelling through the gate by herself."

"She did?" said Porthos, surprised.

Muffled words suddenly came from Aramis that sounded suspiciously like "That's my girl!"

Athos let go of Aramis and looked the horse over, finding no injuries. Everything was intact, including her saddle and Aramis' pack.

"She didn't happen to bring his hat and weapons with 'er?" Porthos asked.

Treville gestured towards Bella. "This is exactly how she arrived."

"She got away from the thief," Aramis said, finally finding enough strength to pull his face away from her neck. He was deathly pale, making Treville catch his breath with concern.

"And _you_ need to go back to bed before Porthos has to _carry_ you there," Treville said.

Bella huffed and Aramis patted her nose, his hand shaking as the adrenaline that had kept him going started to wear off. He suddenly slumped sideways against the horse and Porthos tightened his hold on him.

"My point exactly," said Treville.

The sudden movement brought Aramis back to himself. "I'm fine," he mumbled, even as he winced. He reached out his hand to pet Bella, but missed.

"Get him out of here," said Treville. "Bella should be manageable now."

But as Athos and Porthos started to pull Aramis upright, Bella neighed and took a step closer, shoving her nose against his chest again.

Everyone in the garrison envied Aramis for his horse; she was incredibly smart and had a deep bond with her master that rivaled no one else's. The thought that she'd seen him shot and was afraid for him would sound ridiculous when speaking of any horse but her.

"There there," Aramis said, resting the side of his face against hers. "I'll be fine, Bella, I promise. Look," he said, painfully turning his body slightly. "It's just my shoulder, I'll be good after a little rest."

Bella huffed again, as if to say 'a _little_ rest'?

Porthos laughed. "Bella really _is_ the smartest horse in the world; she doesn't believe that anymore than _we_ do!"

Everyone laughed.

"All right, to bed with you," Treville said.

Aramis gave Bella a final pat and watched as Treville lead her towards the stable, before letting Athos and Porthos pull him to his feet. His brain didn't appreciate the change in elevation and his vision spun, making his knees immediately buckle.

Athos and Porthos held onto Aramis tightly until he was able to get his legs under himself. They could feel him trembling from weakness and pain, and they both doubted that he would make it to his bed still conscious.

Finally, they started to walk, but Aramis only lasted four steps before he passed out.

Porthos carefully lifted him into his arms and carried him the rest of the way, sighing with relief once he'd safely placed him back onto his bed.

Athos pulled Aramis' boots off and they covered him up before sitting in their chairs beside his bed again. They were both relieved that Aramis had his horse back, but they knew that he would still be very upset about losing his weapons...especially his custom-made, filigreed pistols. His sword would be easy to replace, but not the guns.

And that's exactly what Aramis said the next time he woke up.

"I can't believe they're gone," he said, hand over his eyes. "And my hat!"

"We'll get you new ones," said Porthos, feeling sorry for him. "They'll look just as nice, and we'll get you a _better_ hat."

Aramis sighed. "You don't have to help me pay for them."

"We know how expensive they were," Porthos said. "If we'd been with you at the time, you would never have been robbed."

"All for one, Aramis," said Athos.

Aramis moved his hand and opened his eyes, giving them a slight smile in thankful appreciation.

The day passed slowly, with Aramis doing nothing but sleeping and eating. The doctor returned to check on him, and was glad to see that he'd survived.

"So's he gonna live?" Porthos asked.

Aramis rolled his eyes, before wincing as the doctor poked at the stitched wound.

"It looks that way," said the doctor, before throwing his patient a stern look. "As long as you rest and keep the wound clean and free of infection."

"We'll make sure he does," said Athos.

The doctor had treated the musketeers many times, and knew how the three of them were, so he gave a sigh of longsuffering as he wrapped Aramis' shoulder. "I'll be back tomorrow to check."

Ordinarily, Aramis would've answered with a quip of, 'What? Don't you trust us?' but he was still upset at losing his guns and hat and was not in the mood for joking.

The rest of the day passed quietly, especially on Aramis' part. He was in pain and depressed and didn't sleep well that night.

But the next morning, things changed.

Aramis was asleep when Treville suddenly came into the room. Athos saw a strange look on his face and stood. "What is it?"

Treville looked towards the bed. "Poupart sent someone here asking for Aramis."

Athos frowned and glanced at Porthos, who stood from his seat and headed over to them. "Why?"

Treville shook his head. "Perhaps he has a body that Aramis needs to identify? I don't know...the messenger has no idea, but was instructed to bring Aramis back with him."

"He's in no condition," Porthos said.

Athos nodded, but he also knew that dead bodies wait for no one. He opened his mouth to reply, before an unexpected voice spoke.

"In no condition to go _where_?"

Everyone looked to the bed, finding Aramis awake.

Treville walked closer. "Poupart sent someone for you, but we don't know why."

At those words, Aramis immediately tried to get out of his bed.

Porthos ran over to stop him. "Slow down!"

"Someone I know must've died!" Aramis breathlessly said. "Let me up, I need to go see!"

Knowing that there was no stopping him, the others quickly dressed him and helped him out of his room.

Aramis was seeing spots before his eyes as they walked, and his lungs couldn't seem to keep up.

"Be calm," Athos told him.

Aramis tried, but his weakened body was having trouble dealing with the sudden fright.

Once they were outside, they spotted Treville leading their cart away from the stable. "Take this," he said. "It'll be easier for him."

Aramis couldn't deny that he was right. "Thank you," he said, as Porthos helped him climb on.

Athos drove the cart out of the garrison, trying to drive quickly but not too fast at the same time, not wanting to cause Aramis anymore pain.

Aramis said nothing, not allowing himself to voice the agony that was rolling from shoulder to elbow and sideways into his neck and chest. It was excruciating and his vision quickly clouded over with a gray haze. His head dropped onto Porthos' shoulder, but he didn't even feel it.

Suddenly the cart had stopped, and Aramis realized that voices were calling his name. He yanked his head up with a startled, "What?!"

"We're here," said Porthos.

Anxiety seized Aramis again, and it became harder to draw in air when his wounded body protested the situation. He let his friends pull him down from the cart and help him inside.

Poupart was near the back of the room, and quickly looked up. He opened his mouth to speak, before frowning as he saw the state of the musketeer that he'd called for.

"Who died?" Aramis asked, as they neared him.

"I don't know who he was, but he had _these_ ," said Poupart, holding up Aramis' pistols.

All three of the musketeers were shocked.

"Is that yours too?" Poupart asked, gesturing.

Everyone looked to see Aramis' sword leaning against the wall.

"Yes," Aramis said, with breathless relief.

Athos let go of him to grab a chair, which he placed behind Aramis before he and Porthos gently sat him on it.

"You're lucky that I recognized these," said Poupart, handing the pistols to him. "The men who brought in the body tried to keep them until I told them that they belonged to a musketeer. Scared him, I did, when I mentioned that the musketeer had a huge friend who would tear their arms off."

Porthos laughed at that.

Aramis chuckled as he took both guns with one hand and placed them on his lap, looking each one over and finding them as perfect as ever. "Thank you. This is the second time you've given me good news," he said, remembering the incident where he'd thought that he'd killed an innocent woman and Poupart had proven otherwise.*

Poupart nodded. "Not a common thing in _my_ profession!"

"This is the man who shot you?" Athos asked, looking at the body on the table.

Aramis looked up at him, but the motion made his vision tilt as his wounded body tried to recover from the fright of being summoned to the coroner, and adjust itself instead to the relief that he felt at finding his cherished weapons.

Hands suddenly grabbed him, and Aramis realized that his eyes were closed.

"Hey!" Porthos exclaimed. "You get back here, Aramis."

Blinking, Aramis tried to raise his head, "Where'd I go?" he mumbled, wincing at the pain that throbbed through his wound.

Porthos squeezed his good shoulder, and Aramis, still blinking, realized that he was staring at Athos' hand holding onto the wrist of his injured arm, sticking out of the sling. He looked up again, realizing that he couldn't remember the question. "What?"

"Is this the man who shot you?" Athos repeated, looking concerned.

Aramis craned his neck slightly to see the man's face. He realized that Athos and Porthos were still holding onto him as if afraid that he might fall out of the chair. "Yes. What happened to him?"

"The back of his head was bashed in," said Poupart, as if he were discussing the weather.

Aramis was glad that he couldn't see from there. Though he was used to seeing dead people, his current condition was making him feel ill enough.

"So this man shot and robbed you," said Poupart. "But who killed him?"

Porthos looked at Athos. "Bella!"

"A _woman_ bashed this man's head in?" said Poupart, incredulous.

"Not a woman," said Porthos. "A horse. Aramis' horse."

"He stole your horse too?!" Poupart exclaimed. "I suppose this is your hat, then?"

Aramis watched as Poupart turn towards a table and pick up a hat...his beautiful, one-of-a-kind hat.

Poupart turned it over and saw ' _Aramis_ ' written inside it with black ink. "I didn't recognize it as yours like I did with the pistols," said Poupart. "I just tossed it over there without looking at it."

Porthos took the hat from Poupart and placed it on Aramis' lap so he could look at it, but Aramis was feeling dizzy again and just blinked at it, not picking it up. For one of the few times in his life, he found himself speechless.

Poupart frowned. "Is he all right?"

"I believe he is overwhelmed," Athos answered.

"That's not good in his condition," Porthos commented. He still had a hand around their wounded friend's good arm, and he gave it a tug. "Come on, Aramis...you have an appointment with your bed and a horse to show some gratitude to."

"I thought his horse was stolen?" Poupart said.

Athos nodded. "It was, but just as his weapons, his horse was also found."

"That's some luck," said Poupart.

"That's our Aramis!" Porthos replied.

"Not lucky enough to avoid getting shot though," Poupart remarked.

" _That_ also, is Aramis," said Athos. "Unfortunately."

"So true," Porthos said. "He's winning the race of which one us has been shot the most." He said it to try to get a reaction out of the disturbingly-quiet Aramis, but it didn't work...their wounded friend continued to stare at his hat as if he couldn't believe it was there, filling all three of them with concern.

"Time for us to leave," Athos said, reaching down to take the pistols. "Monsieur Poupart, you have our gratitude for returning Aramis' possessions." He picked up the hat and gently placed it on Aramis' head.

Aramis suddenly came back to life and looked up. "Yes," he said, his voice sounding dazed. "Thank you, so much."

Poupart nodded with a smile.

Porthos pulled Aramis out of the chair, holding him tightly when his knees wouldn't lock. Porthos pulled his friend's good arm around his own neck and slowly helped him walk out, while Athos grabbed Aramis' sword and followed.

A minute later, they were back in the cart with Aramis sitting between them. He barely remembered being manhandled up there, and he found his head lying on Porthos' shoulder as Athos drove.

"You all right?" he suddenly heard.

Shifting his head slightly, Aramis found Porthos looking down at his face. "I feel like I'm floating," he mumbled.

Athos and Porthos glanced at each other, surprised to not get 'I'm fine' for an answer, as Aramis usually would say.

One of the cart's wheels suddenly dipped into a hole in the road, and Aramis gasped when awful pain shot through his body.

Porthos held onto him tighter.

"Forgive me, Aramis," Athos told him, wincing in sympathy.

Aramis was unable to answer at first, but he finally managed to rasp, "Not your fault."

All three musketeers practically counted the seconds until they rode through the garrison gate, and Treville headed over to them as the cart stopped. "What happened?" he asked.

Athos held up Aramis' pistols in reply, and explained everything to Treville as they got Aramis out of the cart.

"I'm glad you got everything back, Aramis," Treville said, with genuine relief.

"So'm I," Aramis slurred, barely conscious. He shook his head to clear it-which didn't work-before saying, "Did I thank Poupart? I need to thank Bella too. I'm so grateful to both of them." He blinked, sagging in their arms as he held onto consciousness by a thread. "I'm thankful for all of you, too, for always bein' there for me…" he trailed off, his words slurring again.

"Get him back to bed," Treville told them.

Athos and Porthos turned Aramis around to head back to his room, but Aramis' knees buckled again.

At that very moment, the doctor walked into the garrison just in time to see Aramis slump in the arms of his friends. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" he yelled, making everyone within three hundred feet jump.

Athos and Porthos turned their heads to see him stalking through the gate.

"What did I _tell_ you about making him rest?!" the doctor shouted, shocked to see Aramis outside. "Put him back to bed, _now!_ "

Athos and Porthos quickly pulled their friend to his room as the doctor followed. "I bet you're not thankful for _him_ , Aramis," Porthos joked.

Aramis had regained his senses somewhat as he'd been pulled along, and he lifted his head with a smile, despite the spinning still going on inside his brain. "Thankful for his _care_ …but not thankful that he spotted me outside."

"And the two of you are in serious trouble for _that_ ," the doctor told Athos and Porthos while opening Aramis' door.

As they headed inside, Aramis chuckled, Porthos groaned, and Athos sighed.

THE END

*'Despair': story ID 11803109


End file.
